


Burning

by Over_Blackout



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2014-03-27
Packaged: 2018-01-17 06:05:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1376599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Over_Blackout/pseuds/Over_Blackout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He is going to die before you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burning

He is going to die before you.

That seems impossible when he is in front of you - small and angry and more motherfucking _alive_ than anything you have ever seen in your gog forsaken life. He rants and raves and loves and _cares_ and he is the most _beautiful_ you've ever laid eyes on. 

But then you touch him and he is fire under your hands – a visceral reminder that he is burning really fucking fast thought what little life he has left - and it _hurts_ , it _hurts_ so fucking much.

You didn't know you could feel _pain_ like _this,_ ice-cold and lancing – the complete motherfucking opposite of him – shooting millions of tiny knives into your blood pusher. It steals your breath and make your chest ache unbearably, a wound that won't fucking close, no matter how many times you have tried to stitch up the edges. Not even karkat curled up on your chest like a catbeast can close it - he warmed you, made you forget, but it was still there.

He is gonna die and leave you alone. Alone again. And You are gonna have to spend sweeps and sweeps of your fucking stupidly long life with the image of him burned into the back of your peep storks, beautiful and blinding and motherfucking _gone_.

You are crying and he is making these little alarmed noises, squirming into your lap and grabbing your face in his fucking _hot_ hands. You are so cold, always so cold, unless he is there warming to the motherfucking top with his angry affection. Before him, you didn't know what warmth felt like. Or love. Or how this closeness felt. And when He is stroking those stupid, stupid tears away from your face, kissing your forehead, even though it gets greasepaint on his lips, and motherfucking _cradling_ you in his short arms, you wonder if you could live without this, without him.

Because you don't wanna out live this. You really fucking don't.

**Author's Note:**

> ;-; I am having feelin's all up in my gamkar grill


End file.
